


Stronger

by mystiri1



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Anal Sex, Community: smut_69, Dom/sub, M/M, Submissive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-28
Updated: 2011-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystiri1/pseuds/mystiri1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's one person who's never cared if he's strong enough...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stronger

Hands move over his body, stripping clothing away piece by piece until there's nothing left but himself, bared to hungry eyes. A voice murmurs instructions, directions, and he follows them without hesitation, tilting back his head to expose his throat and gasping as a mouth latches on there, sucking hard. Fingers skim along his body, find delicate little nubs of flesh which they tease and torment as he whimpers, small sounds of pleasure and need.

Those hands are so much stronger than he is. They mould him, shape him, bend him into the creature his lover wants, and he doesn't mind at all. It's so easy to give in, to surrender himself, because there are no inadequacies here. All that's required is contact, that he does not pull away; that he's willing, even eager for his lover's touch.

And he's definitely willing. He allows himself to be guided backwards, onto the soft surface of a mattress; lifts his head to meet hungry lips as a body moves over his. Revels in the press of skin to skin.

He remembers admitting, shamefaced and distraught, the difficulty he'd had with a day's training, his inability to master a simple move. “That's why you train,” his lover pointed out with simple practicality. “So you'll get better at it.”

“But I'm so much smaller and weaker than the rest of them!” he'd protested, because someone so capable didn't seem to realise just how impossible it was.

“You'll grow.” Two simple words, uttered with total conviction, and he feels like he can borrow a bit of that confidence for himself, so that even though the next day he fares no better, it's easier to endure.

And here it doesn't matter that he's smaller, because his lover has never minded that. There's something almost comforting in the way the larger body of his lover hovers over him, the ease with which strong hands turn him onto his stomach. They tug his hips upwards, and he follows blindly. One hand presses down between his shoulder blades, and he sinks forward into the pillows, hips still raised, offering himself up with willing abandon.

Slick fingers tease his entrance, dip inside. He rocks back against them as they stretch him, preparing him for what's to come. Finally he can feel something larger pressing against him, slowly pushing into him. He lets out a low moan as he's filled completely, then his lover begins to move.

It's ironic that, with everything that happened, he never did grow much even if he did get stronger. And learning to fight doesn't seem to help against the demands Tifa and the children make of him now, looking for a hero, a husband, a father-figure. There's nothing he can do that will make him what they want, and the knowledge of his inadequacies send him fleeing all too often. It's only here that he feels accepted, complete; secure in the knowledge that this is all he has to be, and his lover won't demand anything of him that he cannot give. He feels safe as his lover moves inside him, as if the body covering him will somehow shield him from the outside world.

And as the movement become more urgent, as each thrust rocks his whole body forward, driving him towards something, he knows it's okay to surrender to it, to give in; that even though he feels as if he's flying apart, the one who holds him inside and out won't let go. The world disappears just as he hears an urgent cry behind him and his lover plunges deeper than before.

When his sense of self returns, he's lying flat on the bed, his lover pressed along his back. He can feel the brush of long hair against his skin like a blanket, the warmth of his lover's breath as he whispers in his ear, “Mine.”

He murmurs his lover's name into the pillow, both a sleepy agreement and a claim of his own.

The name is still on his lips when he wakes to a bed that doesn't have the warmth of another body, to a room that seems, for a few seconds, unfamiliar and strange. He rolls over to stare at the greying ceiling, reality taking hold once more.

Just a dream.

Only a dream, taking past and present and mixing them together in the way that dreams do, but it makes a mockery of his life as it is, of _who_ he is now. A reminder of what was before it all went so very wrong. Of what was irreparably broken.

“I'm stronger now,” he says to the ceiling, which doesn't care. And wonders if it's only his imagination that his voice wavers high and uncertain, sounding like a much younger version of himself, so desperate for reassurance.

“I'm stronger now,” he repeats, and curls up on the empty bed, longing for the return of sleep.

And oblivion.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #29: Submissive


End file.
